Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

In her tiny attic box-room, Emily had crawled beneath the gables and rubbed a clean spot on the sooty glass with her sleeve. She had gazed for hours across the grimy ocean of roofs and chimneys and waited for Mr. Connor to come and take her away.

Groaning, the steamer jolted into motion. Doreen screeched a protest. As the island melted into the horizon, Emily's nails dug into the rail.

"We won't meet today, Mr. Connor," she whispered. "Not today. Not ever." He would never have the chance to laugh in her face for daring to believe he might want her in his life.

But as the steamer chugged into its tidy rhythm, Doreen's moan of despair careened into a whoop of joy. Emily's gaze followed the stretch of her outflung arm.

Barney's tiny boat cut through the waves. Emily's breath caught in her throat. She took two dazed steps toward the rail and watched as Doreen and Barney struggled to hoist the boat up the side.

Before Barney could climb out, Doreen was poking him in the ribs. "What did he say? Didn't you bring him back with you?" She craned her scrawny neck to peer into the boat as if her brother might be hiding someone under the narrow seat. "Is he coming? Is he sending a fancy boat for us?"

Barney slowly raised his head, his eyes flat peridots in his sallow face. "He ain't there. Ain't no one

there but a pack o' bleedin' savages and some old 'ermit named Pooka livin' in a hut. There ain't no

fancy 'ouse and there ain't no fancy gentleman either."

"It can't be. He has to be there. Our Miss Amelia said so.

Barney's gaze came to rest on Emily with pure malevolence. "You 'eard me. 'E ain't there."

Doreen's shoulders slumped. "Miss Amelia was afraid of this. She didn't even tell him we were bringing the brat in the letter she sent."

"Then 'e must o' found out some other way and moved on. Wouldn't you?"

A bolt of raw pain shot through Emily, shocking her with its intensity. She hated Doreen. She hated Barney. She hated the whole world. But most of all she hated the tiny corner of her heart that had

dared to hope.

Tears sheened her vision. She threw back her head and burst into laughter, speaking for the first time in that long, sullen afternoon. "I'm sure Miss Winters will be receiving an explanation very soon. 'Dear Miss Winters, I regret to inform you my present situation is not suited for the care of a child. Enclosed within

is my generous offering of three pounds and five shillings for the continuance of her education, her board, her dowry, and an extra halfpenny to buy her a sweetmeat.' "

Barney and Doreen gaped at her; their pointed jaws dropped to their throats.

"Christ, the two of you are so pathetic! You trot halfway around the world at the bidding of some grasping, senile old woman on an idiot's mission. You with your hideous bonnet and you with your

short, ugly suit. You're both clowns! We're all clowns in Miss Amelia Winters's bloody traveling circus!"

Emily spun around. She was gulping back tears now and she would be damned to eternal hell before those two leeches would see her cry.

She heard them whispering behind her and wondered if she had gone too far. She doubted if any of

Miss Winters's genteel pupils had ever dared address the prickly Miss Dobbins in such a manner.

The creak of a plank warned Emily. She turned around. Barney and Doreen slunk toward her, shoulders hunched like two alley cats. Emily cast a frantic glance at the bridge. The captain was draped over the wheel, snoring with his eyes open.

"You were poor Miss Amelia's last hope," Doreen said, her voice as oddly flat as her eyes.

"Ungrateful little witch," Barney muttered.

Emily pressed herself to the rail. The rough wood dug into her back. "Stay away from me. I'm warning you."

"Why?" Doreen taunted. "Is the great and mighty Mr. Connor going to swoop down from the sky to

save you? He don't want you. Nobody does."

The words should have lost their power to sting. But Emily discovered they hadn't. Silently cursing the weight of her heavy skirts, she gauged her chances of dashing past them on the narrow deck.

Barney cocked his head. "What was it Miss Amelia said about bringin' 'er back?"

Doreen lapsed into pure cockney. "Said she was a disgrace to the school. Drivin' 'er finest pupils away. Said if I brought 'er back, I'd be lookin' fer a new position meself."

Barney nodded smugly. The twilight wind blew cooler as brother and sister gazed at each other in a moment of silent accord. With a resourcefulness born of surviving a motherless childhood in the East

End of London, they rushed her.

Barney caught one leg, Doreen the other. Emily balled up her fist and smashed it into Barney's face. Blood spewed, and she knew she had broken his nose. She enjoyed a fierce second of triumph. Then

the sky and water swapped places as they heaved her up and over the rail of the steamer into the darkening sea.

Emily sank like a stone. The narrow double skirts twined around her legs in serpentine cords, cutting

off her feeble kicks. The weight of the whalebone bustle dragged her down, deep into the murky depths until the shimmer of the sunset on the water faded to black.

God? Her voice was shy and hesitant, as it had been when her father was alive before she learned that swearing and stomping got more attention than tugging politely on someone's skirt.

No answer.

God? Are you there? Louder this time, more strident. The crushing pressure in her chest worsened.

I know I haven't been very nice the past few yean. Miss Winters says I'm quite a naughty girl,

especially after that sordid incident with the gardener's son.

Her skirt wrapped around her face in choking folds. Perhaps this was an inopportune moment to be reminding God of her sins.

She clawed the skirt from her face. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'd be very grateful if you

would let me live. Not really for myself sir. Just to spite Barney and Doreen. And Justin Connor,

that dirty, no-good, thieving wretch who stole my daddy's gold mine.

The familiar litany was a prayer all its own. She had breathed it, dreamed it, and feasted on its bitterness for seven years. Her legs pummeled the water with new ferocity. She tore at the buttons of her bodice, wrenched the bustle's tape from its mooring. Her head pounded. Tiny dots of light danced before her eyes. Still she clawed at the heavy garments, shedding each layer like musty skins. Finally, she was able to shoot toward the surface, strong and lithe in the simple cotton chemise issued each of the girls at the seminary.

Her hands pressed on with a life of their own, ripping the chemise as if they could somehow tear

asunder not only the garment, but all the drab, lonely, soot-stained years since she had sat in Miss Winters's library and been told her daddy was never coming back.

The buoyant water bore her upward. Her head split the surface with a splash. She sucked in a

shuddering breath. Life and air tingled through her blood all the way to the tips of her toes. The brilliant orb of the sun lay flat on the water, and for a dazzling instant Emily couldn't tell where the exploding rainbow of the sunset ended and she began. She dove beneath the waves and turned an exultant flip.

She emerged from the water, shaking sun-gilded drops from her hair. "Thank you, God," she whispered fiercely. "I shall try to be nicer. I swear I will."

At that moment she saw the steamer chugging toward the far horizon. A faint cry floated on the wind. Barney waved his arms and Emily knew he had spotted her.

Noble intentions forgotten, Emily thumbed her nose and wiggled her fingers at him in a gesture seldom practiced at the seminary. Blowing him a final taunting kiss she kicked herself around, rolling and

bobbing like a sleek seal. The silvery curve of the shoreline beckoned. She quenched a flare of trepidation. Before he'd gone off on his quest for gold, she and her father had rented a modest cottage

at Brighton each summer. She'd become a strong swimmer. It couldn't be as far to land as it looked. Could it?

The cool water caressed her bare skin. A wave of heady delight coursed through her. She drew in a

deep breath and struck for the shore with long, graceful strokes, free at last.

* * *

As Justin prowled the deserted beach, the bloated moon laved the peak of each swell in molten silver.

The waves broke on the sand and rushed over his feet in a swirl of foam before the sea could suck

them back. He felt the inexorable tug against his bare soles as if the sea held the power to melt the

very shore beneath his feet.

He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. The breeze whispered of a respite from his aching restlessness, but for Justin it was a taunting refrain. He couldn't even still his thoughts long enough to hear the night's music calling to him. The only thing more elusive than sleep was peace.